


Ghost Heart

by WingsOfTime



Series: rakey boi <3 [2]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Closure, Light Angst, M/M, MAJOR warning for animal death, Sad with a happy-ish ending, he's still around but yeah, implied description of animal death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 11:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18548668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: "Ghost Hearts are rangers whose animal companions have died, but remained in the In-Between as spirits to serve their masters."How do you grieve if you can see him right next to you?





	Ghost Heart

**Author's Note:**

> as soon as i saw "ghost heart" in character creator, I had... ideas . and then i got really sad for a few days

The quiet, serious voice is achingly familiar, even oddly clipped like it is. It makes Aloth’s ears prick up and his heart jump with a strange hope; one that grows as he realizes that yes, he recognizes that voice, and yes, it is five years different but yet not changed at all. A rush of startlingly fond Dyrwoodian memory floods him, spreading out through his chest and the tips of his fingers when the Watcher’s voice is joined by what can only be Edér’s.

By the gods, Aloth had _missed_ them, he realizes. He had spent five years focused on his self-prescribed duty, and locked those memories into a little box in the corner of his heart which he’d held dear, opening when he needed to be flooded by their comfort.

But now they are back—are they all going to be back together, traveling again? No, that is absurd. And Aloth… needs the Watcher yes, because he’s stuck in his investigations and even he can admit when he needs help. The unfounded hope _is_ absurd, but even Iselmyr’s spirit rises at the thought, despite all her ribbing these past few years about him feeling like a lost schoolchild. Aloth cannot bring himself to hold it to her. He steps forwards, and redundant introductions are made.

The first thing Aloth notices, besides the twinkle of gleeful mischief suddenly lighting up Rake's eyes as he pounces on an opportunity to mercilessly tease him, is that Ichabod... is nowhere in sight. Aloth's eyes reflexively flick to the spot at Rake's side where the wolf should be dutifully scratching his ear or licking his unmentionables, and there is… nothing.

Aloth's gaze darts to Edér's, an instinctive and silent question. It is immediately recognized. Edér shakes his head, something like caution rendering it a minuscule movement. Only silent questions allowed, then.

When Aloth looks back at Rake, there is a faint, flat line to his mouth that wasn't there before. His grip around his bow is tighter, his knuckles a whiter green. Aloth huffs out a short breath. Rake had always been a perceptive bastard. But Aloth's wits have only been sharpened in their time apart; he does not ask.

Later, they descended into the lower levels and run into a shambling, growling mound of bones. They get into position. Aloth lets power flow through his bones as he readies a spell... and watches with a sinking feeling as Rake reaches for an arcane magic he has never seen him use.

A ghostly lupine form materializes with an achingly familiar howl. Aloth swallows down some feeling of wretched loss stuck dry in his throat that he cannot imagine having to experience firsthand. He turns back to the skeleton, staying silent. Iselmyr doesn’t. _Feckin' shite and coxfithers_ , she swears, and Aloth, if his throat were pressed to a knife, wouldn’t know whether the emotions that suddenly flood him are hers or his own.

Edér's gaze finds his once more. He nods, steady and affirming, and Aloth briefly closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, he is ready.

~*~

"You know, Captain, we should find you a furry sidekick of your own." Maia's voice is contemplative, but familiar and casual. Trying to help their relations, no doubt; get a jumpstart on sideling up to Rake for… whatever her true motives are.

Aloth can't hide his wince. He exchanges a glance with Edér that is becoming a bit too familiar, and gets a tight, crooked smile in response.

Rake's expression stills, then loosens. His usually peaceful resting expression morphs into something curt and bitter.

"I already have one," he says shortly, and nothing more. His long ears flatten down, pressing against his jawline.

"Oh." Maia sounds surprised. "Haven't seen any around, so I just assumed. Are they… back on board, then?"

"No," Rake replies, uncharacteristically stoic. His mouth straightens into a thin line.

Xoti tried to share a wide-eyed look with Aloth and Edér. Aloth lets his gaze list to the side, unwilling to partake in contrived familiarity. Him and Edér and Rake... and _Ichabod_ , well... they're the family. Not these new strangers, although he bears them no ill will.

_Yer forgettin’ someone, aye?_

_Aye_ , Aloth thinks back sarcastically. He rolls his eyes.

Idly, he hopes that Pallegina will come around by some miracle to rejoin their expedition. He could not have been the only one who had noticed Rake's hurt at her rejection, and he cannot help but wonder if she would have gentled herself had she known he was mourning the still fresh loss of his closest companion.

"Ichabod... didn't make it after Eothas stomped on Caed Nua," Edér tries hesitantly, tact in his intent but failing in the overt hush in his voice. He must have taken Rake's cue from the earlier allowed—albeit clipped—concession of Ichabod's death _. I am sorry for your loss,_ the woman had said, the words heavier than she’d known to all of their bated breaths, and Rake had swallowed, throat clicking, before giving her a shallow nod.

Edér keeps going for some reason, awkwardness maybe making him feel like he has to keep contributing to the conversation. “When I went looking for Rake’s… when I went looking for Rake, I, um, found him. What was left of him, at least. He…”

“Edér.” Rake’s voice is pained. Edér shuts up immediately, looking guilty as Rake closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath before opening them again. Xoti’s face puckers into a sympathetic frown. She reaches out to touch his elbow. Rake startles, ears flaring outwards, and stumbles backwards into Maia, who clamps a large hand down on his shoulder before Edér’s outstretched arm even has the chance to make contact. He slowly withdraws it.

“Easy, Captain,” Maia says, steady as anything. Rake, in an oddly contrarian fashion, actually seems to relax, the tension in his shoulders winding itself tight before dispersing after a long, heavy minute.

Aloth heaves an inward sigh of relief. Everything is calm now, at least, and they’ve gotten this awkward conversation out of the way. Hopefully they can just move forwards from here.

“Rakey,” comes Iselmyr’s voice unbidden from his throat, “I dinnae conne yer burden. But am sorry fer yer losin’ the biter. ‘Tis damn shamed, it is.”

And she’s gone. Aloth swallows hard, as if the action will retroactively dismiss her words. _Why did you have to speak up?_ he chides, scowling internally. _Can’t you see this discussion is upsetting him?_

 _I was traveling with ‘em both, same as ye,_ she replies. _An’ why are ye sae fashe oan his feelings, anyroad?_

The question is oddly irksome. Aloth grinds his jaw, readying himself for another long and pointless argument—

A hand touches his arm. Aloth blinks rapidly, jolted out of his own mind. Rake is looking at him, something like gratefulness in his dark eyes.

“Thank you, Iselmyr,” he says in a quiet voice. Aloth can only stare dumbly as Rake’s bark-hewn fingers rest for a hesitant moment, and then leave, withdrawing along with the man himself as he steps a few paces ahead.

All Aloth can think about, strangely, is that he isn’t wearing gloves.

 _They catch on the moss,_ Rake had told Aloth some innocent time five years ago, so far away and so close now in his mind. _And if that gets ripped off, my hands are less—_

“Soft,” Aloth mumbles to himself, an unconscious whisper. Then his ears redden, and he coughs self-consciously into his fist. Hopefully no one heard that.

No one seems to have, although he is not counting Iselmyr, whom he is now firmly ignoring. Xoti sidles up next to him, however, and Aloth glances at her warily.

She squints up at him, her hood shadowing her face. “So,” she drawls, scrunching up her nose, “You have a third name now? How many you got, huh?”

Aloth sighs.

~*~

Later, much later, Rake’s textured hands will be clutching at his own, pulling him close as his eyes dart around his face wildly, trying to address all of him at once. “Please,” he’ll say, practically beg. “Please, Aloth, I-I can’t—sleep. There’s nothing there and I just… _can’t_. Please.”

“Of course,” Aloth will reply in a rushed whisper, worry colouring his voice. Rake’s hands will tighten around his. “Whatever you need, Rake, I promise.”

And then he’ll notice that the bed is just large enough for a godlike and a wolf, he’ll see the narrow indent where Rake sleeps and his nostrils will flare with the unflattering aroma of dirt and wild animal. _Oh,_ he’ll think. _You never washed the sheets_.

 He will think it is disgusting, but won’t say it, dismay but more so pity congealing thick in his throat. He’ll step forward silently, run a finger along the untouched section of the bed, flatten the lint between his fingertips and pretend he doesn’t hear Rake’s breath catch on something like a sob.

Aloth will turn around and see that his eyes are wet, and there’s no point in ignoring it anymore. “Okay,” he’ll say quietly, brushing Rake’s bangs aside to press a kiss to his forehead. “I will stay by your side all night, I promise. But Rake,” His pause will be uncomfortable, and he’ll know that neither of them _want_ to acknowledge it, for their individual reasons, but they have to. “You have to change the sheets.”

Rake’s face will twist.

~*~

Over the months, it changes. The crew becomes used to hearing phantom panting, padded footsteps on the deck when nothing is there. The rest of them, when they are out, become accustomed to seeing Rake’s eyes follow something they cannot see; what they only know exists in the heat of battle. But no one dares ask the extent of Rake’s Watcher abilities. No one mentions if that particular fond smile that softens entire face springs up more often after a head injury, or an exceptionally rowdy night at a tavern.

But they do know this. Sometimes, there is a cold, wet nose pressing into their hands when they are resting and Rake has gone off to scout ahead. And sometimes they hear a growl of warning before danger when he hasn’t had his special smile on for days. So they do not have to know, maybe, but they trust.

The heart of a ghost still beats to itself, after all.

~*~


End file.
